


Where You Want to Be

by fatalchild



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 11, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-23 20:36:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7479060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatalchild/pseuds/fatalchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharing a vessel makes you closer, for better or worse. If this arrangement has any chance of working, Castiel is going to have to start telling Lucifer the truth. About everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Casifer Week 2016](http://casiferweek.tumblr.com) \-- [Art by Mashuradi](http://mashuradi.tumblr.com/post/147363060781/based-from-fatalchilds-fanfiction-where-you)

The air was thick with a sickly mingling of sulfur and smoke. Bile rose up in Lucifer’s throat, the product of a weakened vessel, and his muscles rebelled with a strange, burning stiffness. Hell. He had been banished to Hell. Lucifer turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the blocks of dull color to coalesce into something definite. It took too long, and even when he was able to see straight, the vessel seemed to protest even the smallest movement. Lucifer swore to himself. Fucking humans. They had no business with such power, no right to use it against an angel, an archangel like himself. Lucifer struggled to his feet and wiped the pit’s grime from his palms across his coat. Arrogant little abominations. He needed to lie down.  
  
Lucifer didn’t keep a private quarters. All of Hell belonged to him, and even if he did require a resting place, it wouldn’t have been in Hell. The room Simmons led him to was hardly a quarters anyway. It was a corner, but a dark, quiet corner with a pile of pillows that cradled his body in a pleasant but unfamiliar way, and once the demon stopped fussing over him, the space would suffice for recovery. Lucifer drifted in and out of an uneasy pseudo-sleep, only half-conscious when Simmons came to check on him and tell him that ten hours had passed. The pain had dulled, but it lingered, as did the urge to sleep.  
  
“Come back tomorrow,” Lucifer murmured, turning his back to the door.  
  
Simmons shuffled her feet. The sound grated Lucifer’s nerves.  
  
“Sir,” she started, voice small, “are you—”  
  
“I’m fine. Tired. Go.”  
  
There was a long pause, and the door shut. Lucifer closed his eyes again. He was not fine and hadn’t been for so long he’d almost forgotten, but this was different. Pesky banishing spell. Humans had no right.  
  
Lucifer realized he was asleep again when he felt his grace against the confines of his former vessel. He sat up and mapped out the familiar details of Nick’s face with the tips of his fingers. It was comfortable. The place he found himself in, however, was less so. It was little more than a long, flat expanse cast in dim grey shadows. The light overhead was somehow dull and harsh at once, and it afforded neither texture or warmth to the gritty earth below. Freshly tilled soil, Lucifer discovered, rubbing a small sample between his fingers. He wiped it away on his jeans and looked around for some direction. Lucifer saw nothing, but his eyes were a perceived limitation. His angelic senses were something more.  
  
Castiel lay at the center of it all, flat on his back with his arms outstretched in a crude mimicry of sprawling wings. His body had sunken ever so slightly into the wet ground. It looked as if the earth might swallow him and also as if he might not have minded if it did. When he wasn’t immediately acknowledged, Lucifer stepped forward and called Castiel’s name. His eyes opened, stared up blank and passive, and he took a deep breath, nodding as he did, and exhaled in a sigh. He didn’t seem surprised.  
  
“All right,” he said. “You’ve found me.”  
  
“Found you?” Lucifer asked, his own voice an incredulous echo around him. “What makes you think I was looking for you?”  
  
“You’re angry, and I’m here.” Castiel pushed himself upright. “You mean you weren’t looking for me?”  
  
“Was this supposed to be you hiding, then?” Lucifer wrinkled his nose up as he examined the space around him. “What a dismal sanctuary, Castiel.”  
  
“Sanctuary?” Castiel laughed, soft and uneven, lilting in the wrong places.  
  
“I missed the joke,” Lucifer muttered dryly. He walked closer, shoes sticking in the muddy dirt the closer he got to Castiel. “I suppose you’re upset that I almost killed one of the Winchesters?”  
  
“You didn’t stop of your own accord.”  
  
“Didn’t I?”  
  
“You would take even that from me...” Castiel whispered, eyes closing as if against the weight of some terrible burden.  
  
Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Stop wallowing in... whatever this is, sit up, and tell me what’s going on.”  
  
Castiel jerked upright then, little clumps of damp soil rolling down his chest. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw, too obvious an effort to be imposing. “Do whatever you’ve come here to do, Lucifer. I’m not afraid.”  
  
“Oh, please, Castiel. You reek of fear.”  
  
That made him quiet, and Castiel seemed to fold inward and crumple on himself as if stricken.  
  
Lucifer sighed. “I’m not here to do anything to you. Scout’s honor. I just want to know what angelic spell you put in the Winchesters’ hands.”  
  
“Angelic spell?” The series of charades dropped, and Castiel’s confusion showed in earnest. “Are you talking about the banishment? It’s just a sigil, a very simple one. ...Why?”  
  
“Because it hurt,” Lucifer growled, and Castiel flinched back. Another sigh. “Didn’t I say I wasn’t going to do anything to you?”  
  
“I wager you’ve said that to a lot of people.”  
  
“Low blow, but these aren’t indefinite offers. Circumstances change.” Lucifer stared down at Castiel for another moment before clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “All right,” he said, folding his legs to sit in the dirt across from Castiel.  
  
“You want to have this conversation? We’ll have it. Sam and I had an... accord several years back. We have such no longer, and now he is my enemy as surely as he is yours.”  
  
“Sam is not my enemy,” Castiel whispered.  
  
“Call it what you like, little brother, but the facts remain. Our goal here is to defeat the Darkness, and the Winchesters, well, they’re mostly just going to get in the way.”  
  
“How do you figure? They’ve beaten everything that’s come after them.”  
  
“Sure. With help, which they’re now foolishly refusing.” Lucifer shrugged. “I tried to play nice, tried to ‘join the team’ and all, but they’ll let their pride get in the way of what needs to be done.”  
  
Castiel shook his head, but he didn’t look up from the speck of dirt he was picking at on his sleeve. “I don’t believe that. The Winchesters care about the world. They--”  
  
“The Winchesters care about themselves,” Lucifer said. “Everyone else is just a means to their end. I mean, look at you.”  
  
Castiel stiffened.  
  
“They say how horrible I am, how I do the worst things to people. I’m the monster, but they’ve left you here with me.”  
  
“They didn’t have a choice.”  
  
“There is always a choice, Castiel. Besides, they’ve had enough time. No rescue plan yet? Do you think they’re even looking for you?”  
  
An invisible weight bore down, bending Castiel’s neck and slumping his shoulders. “...No,” he said, after several moments. “I doubt they’re thinking about me at all.”  
  
“Which is why they deserve whatever they get, Castiel, because they would use you and me and any other angel they could get their hands on until we’ve been bled dry of--”  
  
“Stop,” Castiel breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t want to hear this.”  
  
“Denial is unhealthy.”  
  
“Just because I know something doesn’t mean I want to hear it said aloud.”  
  
Lucifer frowned. “Fair enough.”  
  
“Thank you.” Castiel hugged his knees to his chest and forced his eyes open with what seemed to be a great deal of effort. After another moment, he stretched one arm out and drew the banishing sigil in the dirt with the tip of his finger. “It’s that,” he said softly. “...I’m sorry it hurt.”  
  
“...Thank you.” Lucifer masked his surprise in a whisper, tracing the lines before him with his own fingers. He knew of the spell, one of the most basic. Any animal could smear its own blood in the right pattern, given the right instructions, but such generally made for underwhelming spells. That made things more unsettling.  
  
“You haven’t killed them,” Castiel said at once.  
  
“Excuse me?” Lucifer looked up.  
  
“The Winchesters. You haven’t killed them, and that banishment would have long worn off by now. Why?”  
  
“I said I wouldn’t. Is this the only thing you’ve taught them?”  
  
Castiel stared quietly.  
  
“Someone has to fight the Darkness, Castiel. Your pets banishing me to the four corners will make that--”  
  
“They have swords,” Castiel admitted. “But I don’t think they’ll come after you now.”  
  
“Of course they won’t.” Lucifer stood up and dusted himself off. “And I still say you should consider what that means for you. Plenty of time for reflection these days. Use it to figure who you should really be afraid of. It isn’t me. ”  
  
Lucifer didn’t wait for a response. He just turned and walked away. He wasn’t entirely sure how to go about waking up, the entire incident of sleeping being wholly foreign, but he had no further desire to hear another angel singing the praises of the chain around his neck.

*****

Lucifer must have woken up, because Castiel couldn’t see him anymore. Everything was so flat here that even non-angelic eyes could probably see for miles. Castiel had spent too long staring straight up wondering how far this sky went and from whence its light came to notice that Lucifer’s footsteps had faded away. When he turned to look, he found himself alone. It was unexpected. Hadn’t he come here over the banishment? What satisfaction could an answer he must have already had possibly provide?  
  
Castiel stretched his senses, feeling for the vessel, but there was nothing. Sam and Dean would be prepared with another banishment in case Lucifer—and he—came back. Castiel would hear his name called or feel the sudden jerk of banishment, perhaps the sting of an ancient weapon held in the bunker’s crypts. At least for the moment, Lucifer wasn’t pursuing them. Even Michael had once said that Lucifer detested lying.  
  
Castiel couldn’t help but think that Lucifer really didn’t live up to the stories, the bad ones, the “devil” stories. There was no interrogation, no torture, no malice at all, really. Then, for a moment, Castiel thought that this might be part of the game. Rumor and imagination painted Lucifer as someone who enjoyed toying with his prey, someone who relished the agony he could inflict upon others. Devil. Satan. Snake. Lucifer hadn’t seemed like that at all. Frustrated, yes, and almost certainly angry, but the reality Castiel found himself alone with was that every word Lucifer had said rang true. And he hadn’t been mean so much as he was--  
  
Castiel shook his head. That was not a productive train of thought. It was loneliness, another weak self-indulgence, but Lucifer’s sudden absence made the silence new enough that it burned. Castiel sat quietly, knocking dirt from his coat sleeves as if his worries would fall away with it, and looked around. Lucifer had evidently found the environment distasteful. His expression had said as much, and looking at it now, Castiel could understand why. It was a blank, dead nothingness. No color, no life, no value at all. A useless abyss. Like him. But the earth was soft enough to yield to a single fingertip, and in that way, Castiel could give it purpose. He could use it to count his sins. Some order might present a better solution.  
  
It was hard to find a starting point, to draw a line as to where his first error was. So, Castiel decided to count backwards, with his most recent mistake, but he instantly got stuck again. Should he count Lucifer? He had tried to kill the Winchesters, but he was also the only thing standing between Amara and her potential to kill _everything_. Of course, the entire situation might as well have been Castiel’s fault, Lucifer or no. It began with the angels falling, like so many other things, he was certain, his ill-fated alliance with Metatron. Gadreel. Hannah. Castiel made a mark for each. He made a mark for Meg all on its own because he wasn’t sure how to categorize it. It could go back to the Leviathan, back to working with Crowley, back to lying to Dean. Rachel. Balthazar. Castiel was crouched on his feet then, pivoting in a little circle as he tallied his moral debts. Naomi. Samandriel. Hester. Soon, the haphazardly ordered lines began to enclose him him, and he stood trembling for several moments before carefully stretching one leg forward to step across his list. There were still people he hadn’t counted, people he had to count twice. He could fill the field. Castiel stepped back.  
  
The air was oppressive, thick and muggy and foul. The change seemed so sudden that Castiel hadn’t noticed it until he felt the urge to retch. A strange sensation while not having a vessel, but one that Castiel was familiar with. The sick sense of dread sank into him, as familiar as the heat prickling the back of his neck. Castiel didn’t turn around. The flames threatening to engulf him had every right, and Castiel himself would have called it justice. He deserved it, and he knew it. Still, he ran.  
  
There was little point without a destination, and there was nothing besides bleak flatness for as far as the eye could see. Castiel tripped in spite of having nothing nothing underfoot, squeezing his eyes shut as the ground drew closer. He scrambled up and spat, but the grittiness clung to his lips even as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The heat behind him swelled, roaring with a thousand whispered voices. Friends. Family. Victims.  
  
Castiel fell again. He did not get back up.  
  
If the stories were true, it would have been Lucifer pursuing him. Castiel had prepared for that, even hoped for it, as he did now even after deciding it made no sense. It was his sacrifice, his one contribution to the fight. It wouldn’t have been the first time, either. Castiel still remembered Lucifer’s face smiling from that bed in the psychiatric ward. He remembered the laughter and the taunts and all the ways that the vision really wasn’t so like Lucifer after all. There was no grace there, and somehow, that was a comfort.  
  
Castiel turned onto his back. He couldn’t feel Lucifer anymore, couldn’t feel his vessel, couldn’t feel anything besides the fear worming its way into his bones. There was nobody coming to save him. He had nowhere to run. And the worst part of it all was that he deserved it.  
  
Castiel lay there, silent tears streaking dirt down his face. He wondered if the Winchesters would ever know what became of him, wondered more if they would care. Perhaps, after all this was over, they would forgive him. Maybe once Lucifer had defeated Amara, the Winchesters would look back and see that Castiel had done this to save not only them but all the world, and then that sacrifice would shine bright enough to blot out the shadows of all his wrongs.  
  
It was selfish to lie there and wait for the ground to swallow him up, burying his fear and his guilt. The same way it was selfish to antagonize Lucifer, to goad him to torture so that there might be some vindication in this all. Even as a vessel, he was a failure. It was more than the Winchesters, more than Lucifer. Everyone, everyone would be better off if Castiel disappeared.  
  
Another wave of heat crested over the dank plains. Bodiless as he was, Castiel still felt tired. He could pick any direction and try to run with the same result, but his mind-legs no longer wished to move. The pain began there, invisible flames working their way up. Castiel didn’t fight. He’d burn up eventually. Expendable and consumed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Art by MashuraDi](http://mashuradi.tumblr.com/post/147499349721/you-used-your-grace-on-me-i-laid-my-wings-over)

Lucifer was familiar enough with discomfort that he often didn’t notice it. The Cage was, quite firmly, in his past now, but millions of years of tortuous confinement lingered in a crick in his neck or a dull throb between his wings. Most days, Lucifer felt such sensations wash past him and afforded them as little attention as he did the memory of Hell itself, but the sharp heat creeping beneath his skin prickled in a strange new way that stole his attention from more important tasks for the better part of the day. More than once, his demonic retainers had needed to call to him several times before he answered. He had dropped a crystal goblet with such intricate beauty that he valued it too much for such carelessness. Fortunately, nobody had been around to see that, though they had been present for the culmination of the afternoon: Lucifer flat out walking into a demon not one, not two, but three different times. They all noticed that, but most at least had the courtesy of pretending it was the other party’s error. 

Mortification was one thing, like the pain, but the chance that Castiel was thrashing about inside him in some attempt to seize control or cast him out was quite another. Impossible, of course. Lucifer had no intention of letting go, regardless of what Castiel might try. The potential for Castiel to do harm, however, was very real. Again, Lucifer stole back to his makeshift private quarters, finding that they had been much improved in his absence. The bed he sank onto was firm and soft at once, cradling Lucifer’s aching limbs in such away that lulling himself into a pseudo-sleep state was easier than it had been the first time. 

The landscape was predictably dismal still, but the heat was surprising. Lucifer coughed, pressing the back of one hand to his mouth as sweat began to bead across his brow. 

_Castiel, what have you done?_

Lucifer pressed forward, feeling his way through the thick haze by way of the ever-rising temperature. A cacophony of whispers whirled around him, but the voices were distant, their words vague. There was hatred here, shame, guilt, and pain. It seeped into Lucifer’s bones and soaked him down to his grace. He felt crushed, the weight of everything he’d ever done or thought about doing or had done to him mounted on his shoulders and pushed him to his knees. The pressure was terrible and familiar. Coupled with the sudden realization of its source, the pain stirred something ancient and buried inside Lucifer. He pushed back, strangled cry catching in his throat, wings unfurled to brace. 

On his feet again, Lucifer held his hands up. He did not belong to it. It belonged to him, and with effort, he could contain it. His voice rang out in Enochian: “MOMAR-IALPIR OD MIR-AMMA OL NOAS MICALP OD EOL LONCHO.” Lucifer curled his fingers into a fist, pulling power to his palm. Light erupted from him, and when it passed, the field was clear. No smoke, no voices, no pain. Just Castiel splayed out across the dirt in the distance. 

Lucifer approached him, wary of a trap, but Castiel looked small, almost broken. He’d been at the center of it all, now pale with pain and flushed with fever. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead and stuck his clothes to his shaking limbs. He gaped up at Lucifer, eyes wide and fearful as he gulped down the clean air.

“Calm, brother,” Lucifer whispered, kneeling down. “Why is the Cage here?”

Castiel shook his head and made a feeble attempt to rise. He fell flat on his back, and the weakness seemed to have convinced him that he was going to die, because he reached his hands out towards Lucifer, desperate for any salve against the isolation of Hell’s lowest prison. 

“You’re all right,” Lucifer assured him. He held Castiel’s hands gingerly, as if they might break, pausing only to wipe some of the sweat threatening to drip into his eyes. 

“It hurts so much.”

“I know.”

“You got rid of it?”

“For the moment.”

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief as his eyes rolled closed. He mumbled something about wanting to be somewhere else but didn’t answer when Lucifer pressed him. Strange, as he could be anywhere he wanted.

Lucifer gathered Castiel up into his arms and carried him away from the swirling energies of Hell. He wondered then if perhaps Castiel had not realized the power he wielded here. The soil was evidence of an inkling, a longing, but Castiel had lacked the confidence to see it through. Lucifer could do it for him. He didn’t know Castiel’s exact preferences, but he figured a carpeting of fresh clover would be a good start. It added color and a sweet smell to drive away Hell’s stench. Trees would provide shade and something sturdy to lean against, and Lucifer saw no reason not to include a scattering of wildflowers. He lay Castiel among them and sat at his side until he began to stir. 

“Where are we?” Castiel asked, though he did not move.

Lucifer sighed. “That’s a complicated question. Where were we five minutes ago?”

“I don’t know.”

“Inside your head, for all intents and purposes.”

“Oh.” The hint of color that had returned to Castiel’s face drained away at once. “What did you see?”

“You and the Cage, which you still haven’t explained by the way.”

Castiel took a deep breath and pushed himself upright with his hands. Then he turned and slumped back against a tree. “I suppose I do owe you an explanation. I did not think you would notice.”

“Really?” Lucifer arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I would notice that?”

“I assumed you carried enough of your own that mine would be... insignificant.”

“Well, that’s an entirely different thing. You assumed wrong.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Lucifer glanced sidelong at Castiel, watching the way his body seemed to crumple with the words. He refused to look up but didn’t seem to be avoiding Lucifer’s eyes so much as he was dazed out examining a single blade of grass.

“Castiel.”

“Yes?”

“Why is the Cage here?”

“...I took it. From Sam Winchester.” Castiel still wouldn’t look up.

“And what possessed you to do a stupid thing like that?”

“Because Sam didn’t deserve--”

“Oh, nonsense. Of course he did. And even if he didn’t, you certainly don’t--”

“Yes. I do.” Castiel’s eyes were up, alight with something akin to passion for the first time. Lucifer tilted his head to the side and watched. Castiel’s eyes soon turned away again. “Now, may I ask a question?”

“You just did,” Lucifer pointed out, stretching his legs in front of him and leaning back against his hands.

“Another then.”

“Shoot.”

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

Castiel’s tongue looked dry as it scraped across his lips. “Make the Cage leave.”

“Well, for one thing, I don’t bring out the welcome wagon for it by spending my time in the bleakest places I can imagine.”

“I wasn’t trying to be bleak. That’s just what was here.”

“So change it. This is your mind, Castiel. You can make it look however you like it.”

Castiel closed his eyes, and for a moment, he looked peaceful. Then his brows began to furrow, and his nose scrunched up with effort and frustration. It pulled on the rest of his face, tugging his lips into something that resembled a sneer. Castiel sighed, and the expression dropped. “I can’t do it.”

“At least you were cute trying.”

“What?”

“You’re making it too hard. Just think of where you want to be, and there you are.”

“But I don’t know where I want to be,” Castiel protested, lip quivering like a child’s.

“Calm down,” Lucifer told him, reaching over to brush sweat-soaked hair from Castiel’s face. “This place is all right, isn’t it?”

“It is.” 

“Then relax.”

Castiel nodded and seemed to make a very deliberate effort to make his body seem less tense. It wasn’t terrible effective. He seemed more like a nervous mouse, curled up and jumping at every rustling breeze. 

“Is this you being calm?” Lucifer asked.

“What if it comes back?”

“It won’t, not while I’m here.” 

Castiel seemed hesitant, as if there were a question caught in his throat that he dare not speak. He fidgeted for a moment, something between a deliberate action and an involuntary twitch, and then, in a series of over a dozen tiny movements, Castiel inched closer to Lucifer. He felt himself tense. Proximity was always a precursor to violence, and Lucifer had grown tired of it all, especially as it concerned his own kind. But Castiel didn’t seem inclined towards conflict at all. Then he trembled, and Lucifer’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, as natural as breathing. 

“You’re all right.”

“I’m so ashamed,” Castiel blurted out, hands covering his face in a feeble attempt to hide.

“Why? Because you’re afraid of Hell? Everyone is afraid of Hell, Castiel. That’s the--”

“Because I deserve it!” he cried out, small body now racked with sobs. 

“What? Did that boy put that in your head?”

“No. It’s my fault, just like everything else.”

“It can’t all be your fault. I mean, isn’t most of it _my_ fault?” Lucifer asked, nudging Castiel playfully with his shoulder, but the little angel didn’t laugh. “Okay, no... Listen, Castiel, about before... It wasn’t fair. Even if your taste in friends is... It wasn’t your fault.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Castiel whispered.

“So tell me. Start at the beginning, and tell me everything.”

“I don’t know where the beginning is.”

“Then start in the middle, and we’ll work it out.”

Castiel looked up at Lucifer slowly. “...We?”

Lucifer nodded. “Yeah. I’ll stay here until you feel better, but you have to talk to me.”

“Okay.” Castiel took a deep breath. It was a long story.

*****

Castiel felt like he was floating, somewhere peaceful and far away, like a warm bath only larger. His own personal ocean. He felt like a child with the waves rocking him back and forth, and someone nearby was singing softly. It was distant at first, then louder. The song faded, and the voice was no longer singing, but calling his name.

_Castiel. Castiel. Castiel._

He opened his eyes. There was no trace of Hell, not even to his angelic senses. The last thing Castiel remembered was sitting in a small grove, and while this area was similar, it was far more beautiful than he recalled. The grass beneath him felt thicker, even softer, and cool against his skin. The trees seemed taller, the flowers brighter and more diverse. Castiel could hear water rippling in a nearby stream, creating a background chorus for the birds singing overhead. Castiel sat upright. Birds?

“Where am I?” he asked, turning each way to look around.

Lucifer was right beside him, their legs still touching as he pushed himself half-upright, perching lazily on his elbows. “You keep asking me that.”

“This is not the same place we were before. It can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“There’s life here.”

“Think of them as dream birds,” Lucifer offered.

“...Am I dreaming?”

“No. Mind birds doesn’t sound as nice, though.”

“I see. But I was doing something.”

“Sleeping, I assume, or something like it. Not everything has a word in every language, Castiel.”

Castiel turned again. “You used your grace on me?”

“I laid my wings over you.” Lucifer sighed, reclining back. “You seemed better. Is that a problem?”

“Of course not. I just didn’t expect you to stay here so long.”

“I said I would.”

Lucifer’s eyes closed, and Castiel was glad for it. His ears felt hot, which meant that his face was almost certainly flushed as well. It felt like a lifetime since he’d felt another angel’s wings and Lucifer’s of all people’s. In Heaven, Lucifer’s touch had been coveted by all the younger angels. He had been beautiful and majestic and beloved by God himself, his wings much the same. But now, Lucifer was... No, Castiel decided at once. It felt the same. He lay back.

“I should thank you,” he said.

“Yes. You should.”

“I... Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. See? Not so hard, right?”

“No.” Castiel stared up at the sky, watching tree branches sway across the clear blue. He felt something cool across the back of his hand, a hesitant, testing ghost of a touch. It occurred to him then, maybe for the first time, how much Lucifer had suffered. Alone. Castiel turned his hand so that Lucifer’s fingers slid into his palm. 

“You left a lot out of your story,” Lucifer said, squeezing Castiel’s hand gently.

Castiel wasn’t sure if he was testing the grip or trying to be encouraging. “I did,” he replied.

“Was I penance?” Lucifer asked softly.

“What?”

“You said you took Sam’s memories of Hell as penance for what you had done. Was I also penance?”

“Not this time, no.”

“This time?”

Castiel took a deep breath. “I saw you before, when I first took Sam’s pain. I saw you sitting there. You said hello to me, and... I was afraid.”

“I see.”

“It was some aftertaste left over from Sam. I don’t know what he saw. We’ve never talked about it, other than the fact that it was you. He’s only asked me once, and I didn’t really answer.” Castiel looked over at Lucifer and frowned. “You weren’t cruel to me,” he said quickly. “Sometimes you said strange things, but you listened when I talked, and sometimes you’d try to make me smile. Then one day I woke up, and you were gone. I didn’t expect us to meet again.”

“You know that wasn’t me, right?”

“I do, now.”

They were quiet for a long time, Castiel weighing what was and was not safe to tell Lucifer. He couldn’t find much to categorize as “not safe,” however. Lucifer already knew where the Winchesters lived, and he had a spell to dissolve any wards they might think to put up. Simply put, if Lucifer wanted to go after the Winchesters, he had the means. He could have done it while Castiel slept if he’d wanted, but the carefully crafted details of the new environment would have taken significant time and effort. For _him_. 

“You have more important things to attend to,” Castiel said.

“I have people for that. Why? Do you want me to go?”

“No.” Castiel’s hold on Lucifer’s hand tightened of its own accord. 

“I won’t, not until you’re ready.”

“What about Amara?”

“I told you. I have people for that. Hundreds of them, looking into Hands of God right now.”

“Good. I wish I could help.”

Lucifer gave him a quizzical look. “You are helping.”

“By being your vessel, yes.”

“You’re more than a vessel.”

Simple words, but they made Castiel’s heart skip. “What am I?” he asked.

“You’re Castiel,” Lucifer replied, laughing lightly as if the question were absurd. 

“I don’t know what that means anymore.”

“It’s good. A little foolhardy, but very brave, I think.”

“Brave?” Castiel echoed.

“You voluntarily took a piece of Hell into yourself. That’s brave.” He sighed. “It was even brave to take on me, I suppose, considering what you thought, what you’d been told.”

Castiel wanted to ask, wanted to beg Lucifer to tell him every detail of how Heaven used to be. He wanted to hear of the stars and the light and how his siblings all used to love one another. He longed to know what had been taken from him. How many reconditionings? How many sharp probes into his grace? How much had Castiel forgotten? Was there a time when he and Lucifer had been close? Is that why this felt...

“Your body aches,” Lucifer murmured, pulling him from his thoughts.

“What?”

“At first I thought it was the banishment, but I looked into it. You’re right. It’s small time. I’m surprised it worked on me at all, to be honest.”

Castiel rolled to his side and leaned up on one arm. “You’re in pain?”

“Of course. I was prepared for that. I wasn’t prepared for _you_ to be in pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I didn’t think you would notice,” Castiel confessed. “It seemed... What’s one year to a million.”

“Time is different there,” Lucifer said, folding his free arm behind his head. “It doesn’t move like you expect it to, and it doesn’t make sense. But it doesn’t matter. Most everyone can find someone who hurts worse than they do.”

_Except you_ , Castiel thought, but he didn’t dare to say it. 

“I’ll stay away from the Winchesters so long as they stay away from me.” Lucifer turned his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Does that lessen your burden?”

“It does.”

“You don’t owe them anything else. This is their mess we’re cleaning up and at great personal risk.”

“I know. I saw.”

“You saw? What do you mean you saw?”

“It was horrible,” Castiel said, drawing closer to Lucifer’s arm. “After Heaven tried to smite Amara, they sent an angel, Ambriel, down to check if she was dead. She wasn’t. She... devoured Ambriel’s grace. I-I felt her grace fade away. They sent her to die. They...”

“She’s consuming angels?”

Castiel nodded.

“How dare she,” Lucifer breathed, sitting up slowly.

Castiel followed, keeping their hands together. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No. You did the right thing. The more I know about her plans, the better our chances of stopping her before she gets any more angels. Everyone in Heaven hates me, but not everyone up there is stupid. I can try to arrange for some protection, make sure they’re at least as prepared as they can be.”

“That would be good.”

“It means I’ll have to leave you here, though. Will you be all right?”

“I will be,” Castiel said, trying to sound more certain than he felt. 

“You won’t be alone, Castiel. We’re sharing your vessel. It’s hard to get much closer.” Lucifer smiled and reached for Castiel’s hands. “Let me show you.” He turned Castiel’s hand over in his and traced a sigil in his palm, each line as slow and deliberate as his words: “OLPRT-ESIACH PAMBT NIISO BRANSG OD BLIAR.”

Castiel repeated the words to himself, watching Lucifer’s finger carefully.

“You don’t need blood. You can draw it anywhere, in the dirt even. Then lay your hand over it and speak the words aloud. I will come to you.”

“You’re teaching me... to summon you?”

“ _Call_ , not summon, Castiel. And it stays between us.”

“Of course. Thank you.” 

Lucifer smiled in a way that was familiar and strange in the same instant. He squeezed Castiel’s hands, leaning so close that Castiel could feel the swirling vortex of his grace. And then he was gone. Castiel felt Lucifer’s absence like a knife, but the world didn’t collapse around him. The construction was for more than Lucifer’s own amusement, then. It was for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Art by MashuraDi](http://mashuradi.tumblr.com/post/147566428296/based-from-fatalchilds-fanfiction-where-you)

Castiel soon became Lucifer’s primary preoccupation. He thought about him even when he wasn’t trying to and worried for him more than he had anyone in a long time. Between crafting spells and looking for weapons, Lucifer would occasionally slip into his little side room in Hell to go inward and find Castiel. The garden seemed to be staying intact, at Castiel’s desire, Lucifer assumed, and it made for a peaceful, human-free reprieve from the world. Lucifer liked the feel of Castiel’s fingers wrapped around his own, and Castiel seemed to enjoy having someone to talk to. More and more of his story emerged each time Lucifer visited him, and the story was unsettling. Lucifer had been right all along, but in suffering, there was kinship.

Lucifer began to wonder how things would go after the Darkness was defeated. He had no doubt that the Winchesters would try to seal him back in the Cage, but he was unsure as to which side Castiel would take. He seemed a genuine sort of person, and the way his smile lit up when Lucifer visited him was undeniably sincere. It was the first time in a long time anyone had smiled for Lucifer’s sake. It drove his fantasy, coaxed him to indulgent thoughts. Perhaps his and Castiel’s arrangement would grow to be permanent. The vessel wasn’t a perfect fit, but it was comfortable. More importantly, it held. Here, he was safe from the Cage. 

A lead on a purported Hand of God soon became an unpleasantly long, and ultimately fruitless, hunt. The frustration bundled up and nested between Lucifer’s wings as an agitating then painful twinge. He hadn’t seen Castiel for days, which somehow felt wrong, but Castiel had the spell if he needed it. He was probably just in his garden, tending flowers or observing bees. But this pain was familiar. Lucifer sent his most trusted demon to investigate a second weapon and stole away himself to Castiel.

His arrival was bleak. Met with a cloying humidity and a desolate garden, Lucifer knew instantly that Castiel had succumbed to Hell again. He should never have been left alone so long, Lucifer thought, and almost instantly, Hell’s claws dug into him, twisting that sense of responsibility into an agonizing, self-consuming guilt. Lucifer’s face twisted. He glowered up as if the Cage were alive and capable of reading his expression then struck out with enough rage to intend to kill. That place would not have Castiel.

Lucifer found him hiding in the shadows, crouching and crying as he tried to save a patch of flowers ripped out of the ground. They were dead. All of the plants were dead. The trees were decayed, hollowed-out stumps, and an eerie silence hung in the air, absent of flowing water or singing birds. Castiel looked up, face red and dirty and wet, and not unlike a child, he stretched his arms out towards Lucifer imploringly. 

“Oh, little brother...” Lucifer bent to hold him. “Why didn’t you call for me?”

“I let your garden die,” Castiel mumbled, face pressed against Lucifer’s shoulder.

“It was your garden.”

“I couldn’t maintain it.”

“You were doing a good job before.”

“That was you.” Castiel sniffled, and his eyes widened as he grasped Lucifer’s arms. “It’s coming back.”

Lucifer glanced past him. It looked like a storm coming in but worse. The dark cloud rolled forward devouring everything in its path. There was no wind, no physical force ripping the ground up. Everything just seemed to crumble beneath the weight of the Cage, Castiel included.

“Come on.” Lucifer grabbed Castiel’s hand. “I’m going to show you how--”

“No!” Castiel’s heels dug into the soil, and he was dead weight at once. “We need to run!”

“Run?” Lucifer stumbled against the sudden pull of Castiel’s weight. “That’s not going to help. You’re letting it control you, but you need to control it.”

“What if I can’t?” 

“I learned to do it. So can you.” 

Castiel seemed to consider for several moments. His eyes darted back and forth, and he licked his lips nervously. But the first wave of heat broke his resolve. “I can’t. I can’t.” He dropped back to the ground. 

“I’ll teach you,” Lucifer pressed, but Castiel only shook his head weakly. He was broken, and as long as he believed he couldn’t stand against Hell, he’d never be able to. 

The heat was thickening now. The Cage inside Castiel was a merciless cluster of memories and spiritual scarring, and Lucifer knew the danger more than anyone. He sighed, resting his hand on Castiel’s shoulder for a moment before rising to his feet and turning to confront Hell again. It felt easier now, driven by whatever this new feeling was, something yet unnamed mingling with nostalgia. The pain rolled off his back and meant nothing. Castiel would be saved.

He was waiting back where Lucifer left him, calmer now and watching curiously. Lucifer hoped he had been watching, trying to learn the gestures and the words that mattered so much less than the will. Could will be taught? Could it be learned? Lucifer believed so. Heaving a weary sigh, he sat back at Castiel’s side.

“All right. Truth now.”

Castiel shook his head. “What?”

“That’s more than Sam’s ‘aftertaste,’ and it’s more than you feeling bad about someone tricking you several years ago.” Lucifer moved sideways, trying to force eye contact. “You want to die, don’t you?” 

Castiel looked down. “That’s... not it.”

“Don’t lie to me, Castiel. Don’t you dare--”

“I don’t want to die, I deserve to!” Castiel covered his face. “I... I’m useless. I make everything worse. So, maybe, yes, it would be better for everyone if--”

“Did you not see that?”

“What? Hell?”

“Not just Hell, the Cage, the worst part of Hell. That’s where I would be without you, so don’t tell me that I would be better off if...” Lucifer’s voice broke, and the strange, thick feeling persisted even when he tried to swallow it down. 

Castiel’s demeanor seemed to shift at once. He uncurled and crept forward, eyes bright for the first time. Then he hesitated, chewing his bottom lip until Lucifer extended one arm to allow him close. 

“I don’t want to want to die,” he said. “It’s just... I don’t know...”

“You find one thing,” Lucifer said, the warm, gentle weight of Castiel’s body resting against his. “You just need one thing to hold onto, and then one day they’ll be another one, and you have two things.” He sighed. “I guess the garden wasn’t right.”

“It was beautiful,” Castiel said. “I just...”

“I know. I never said it was easy.”

Castiel nodded, shuffling closer. It was strange, having someone against him. Lucifer hadn’t held anyone so close in so long it was another lifetime, but Castiel fit against him nicely, seeking out his hand as they sat together in one small patch of grass. It spread slowly, growing outward as vast as before. It was simpler, though, just the soft green shaded by a few trees. No birds this time, but there was a faint trickle of water in the distance.

“You make it look easy,” Castiel murmured. “Everything just... grows around you.”

Lucifer chuckled. “Some of that’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...” Lucifer slid his fingers between Castiel’s. They fit perfectly. “The world is better with you in it,” he said.

“I... Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Lucifer closed his eyes, relishing the feel of Castiel against him, their graces brushing together within. “We’ll find a place just for you,” he said, and Castiel’s arms tightened around him in response.

*****

They passed more time than they should have sitting in the garden. Castiel didn’t want Lucifer to leave, and he could tell that Lucifer himself seemed fairly reluctant. He tried not to read too much into it. Lucifer was just being nice, of course. Castiel was his vessel. He had to keep him in suitable condition.

No. _No._ That was the Cage talking. That was fear and guilt and Hell. Lucifer was not a liar, and nobody could fake what Castiel had felt when their hands were touching. But it was wrong, he told himself, to rely on Lucifer to protect him when there were more important things to be done. Amara wasn’t going to wait for Castiel to feel better, and Lucifer couldn’t spare the time to constantly coddle him. Castiel had to do this.

Lucifer had told him to find one reason worth fighting for and had given him that reason in the same breath, without even realizing it. Lucifer needed a vessel; Castiel could be that. Maybe he also needed a companion or a friend, and maybe they could be that to each other. No one else could ever understand Hell like they did, at the very least.

For a while, Castiel turned his attention to the remnants of Lucifer’s garden. It was hardly a garden anymore, now more like a grove again. His fault, a vicious little noise in his head reminded him, but for the first time in so long, Castiel was able to push it away. He replanted the flowers by hand, coaxing them back to life with his grace and all the positivity he could muster. Lucifer would be happy when he saw them. He would smile and lay down in them and hold Castiel’s hand and tell him he was special. It was a seductive thought. 

Flowers replanted, Castiel wandered his landscape, forcing himself to banish the lingering remnants of Hell. He had watched Lucifer, memorized the words he spoke before his grace had flashed so brilliantly, but Castiel knew that the power wasn’t in the words. 

_You’re an angel,_ a voice in his head reminded him. _You can do this._

It was Lucifer, still watching out for him. Castiel steeled himself and stepped forward, but he would never be as strong or as bright or as beautiful as Lucifer. If an archangel could falter even once under such a weight, how could he ever--

_Angel of Thursday is nothing to sneeze at,_ came Lucifer’s response. _You are stronger than you know._

Castiel blushed. They were wound closely enough that Lucifer could hear him without his even intending it. What other secrets might Lucifer know now? Could Castiel take this to mean that he wasn’t bothered, that maybe he enjoyed their time together just as much? No response to that, which was something of a relief.

Most of Hell had been banished. There were just lingering images and feelings. Pools of black and burnt out wings, an occasional angel falling in the sky. Castiel faced each one of them, confronting his responsibility while waiting for the soft whisper of Lucifer’s reassurance.

_You meant well. Now let it go._

“Just like that?” Castiel asked aloud. He thought he heard Lucifer laugh.

_Just like that._

“Okay.” Castiel squared his shoulders, mentally preparing. “I can do this.”

_I know you can._

Castiel nodded. The self-doubt began to crumble before Lucifer’s reassurance. Castiel held his hands out, whispering the incantation he had heard Lucifer use. Fear began to wind itself around him.

_You have to mean it, Castiel. You can’t ask the Cage nicely to please leave you alone._

It sounded absurd, but so did the idea of meekly whispering his banishment. Castiel shouted, fear’s hold scraping down his legs and scrabbling at his ankles. He held his arms out, and the guilt began to melt, dripping off him. Castiel felt lighter. He felt free. He reached down to the core of his grace, swearing he felt Lucifer’s hand in his at the moment he shone brightest. He held tight and let everything else go.

The sky was clear when Castiel opened his eyes. He felt heavy and exhausted, as though he had fought an entire army single-handed, but there were no remnants of battle around him to support such. Just an open field and a cool breeze, a sense of peacefulness that was so foreign it was all but alarming.

“Lucifer?”

_Still here._

“Thank you. I... I think I’m all right for now.” 

_You know how to reach me. I won’t be far._

Castiel sat in the grass for a while, catching his breath. Rest felt strange but nice. Perhaps Castiel was just unburdened for the first time. He lay back. He sorely missed Lucifer’s presence beside him, but it gave him time to think. He’d already counted Lucifer among the things worth fighting for, and while Lucifer probably wouldn’t have been thrilled about it, Castiel counted the Winchesters too. He counted the other angels, the family that he had always and would always love. Castiel counted gardens and groves alike, all kinds of nature, trees and flowers and everything that grew in between. He counted bees and honey, board games and television. There was the sunrise and the sunset, the moon and the stars, the way Lucifer’s hand felt holding his. Back where he started and still smiling, Castiel rose to his feet and walked on. 

He had no destination in mind, but there was one, a small hut cresting over the horizon as he approached. Castiel didn’t recognize it, but it would be somewhere good, somewhere safe. He hesitated at the door, but the knob turned easily in his hand. Inside was a near-perfect replication of the bunker’s kitchen. It smelled better, though. Less grease and more cinnamon. Castiel didn’t know why the Winchesters would have cinnamon, but he thought it might be good in coffee. The little machine was sitting on the counter where he remembered it, and there was a tin of coffee and a stack of filters. The water ran clear. Castiel filled the pitcher and flipped the little switch before exploring further.

There were stacks of books and papers, plenty of material for Castiel to read, and a television sat on the table. It was an older model, but that was the kind Castiel knew how to work. He turned the knob, delighted when the screen lit up, even if it displayed only static. The hiss was drowned out by the bubbling coffee maker, and it faded entirely when Castiel turned the second knob and pivoted the metal antennae. The screen flickered, colors flashing brightly before gathering together to form a cartoon rabbit crunching on a carrot. Castiel smiled.

He soon found milk and sugar as well as a bag of microwave popcorn already flavored with butter. Castiel stacked things up as he went, grabbing two mugs on his way back to the small table. When he thought to look for a pen, he found one sitting on the nearest counter, right next to a small pad of paper exactly the right size to hold the sigil. Castiel called for Lucifer then flipped through the TV channels while he waited the mere handful of seconds before he felt Lucifer’s arrival.

“Hello, brother. ...Oh?” Lucifer paced the room slowly, looking it up and down curiously. “All right. Now it’s my turn to ask. Where are we?”

“Where we always are,” Castiel replied. “But this is the kitchen from the Men of Letters bunker.”

“Not bad, little brother.” Lucifer grinned. “Snacks and entertainment too? Good for you.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do. It suits you.”

Castiel took Lucifer by the hand and pulled him over to the table. “I made coffee. Do you like coffee?”

“Probably.”

Castiel handed Lucifer a drink and then sat beside him, discreetly sliding his chair close enough that he and Lucifer might touch. He judged by the way Lucifer smirked into his cup that he had noticed but didn’t seem to mind. Then Lucifer’s arm was around Castiel’s shoulders again, holding him like before. It felt right; so did leaning over and kissing Lucifer on the underside of his jaw just one time. For a moment, Castiel thought he saw Lucifer blush and smiled to himself. He lay his head down on Lucifer’s shoulder, took a sip of coffee, and let himself relax. This place was good.

It was his, and it was good.


End file.
